


Minerva's London Detention

by Shlomo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 05:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shlomo/pseuds/Shlomo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Slughorn gives Minerva McGonagall her first detention. Her punishment? To go to London to meet one of Slughorn's old students, a good-looking young man named Tom Riddle, and help him catalog some books.</p><p>*There is one underage / non-consensual kiss in this fic. Nothing more intense sexually than the one kiss. I think it could be a Teen rating, therefore, even though I did check the Non-consent and underage tags.</p><p>This was originally written and posted to the livejournal hprare_pairs cliche fest. The cliche was "detention."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Minerva's London Detention

Minerva McGonagall stared across the wooden table at Dumbledore, who was quietly looking back at her. His fingers were laced together, and his chin was resting softly on top of them. His Pensieve sat next to him, the silver liquid gently lapping around inside of it. Although the Pensieve was silent, its very presence seemed to Minerva as loud as a shriek. It was ominous. 

“I think, Minerva, you know why I’ve asked you here today,” Dumbledore said softly, still looking at her intently.

Minerva sniffed and leaned back in her chair.

“No, I don’t know,” she said irritably, hating Dumbledore, hating the Pensieve, hating everything. “You should go ahead and formally ask me.” 

There was a pause as Dumbledore continued to survey her sadly.

“Come, now, Minerva. You’re acting as stubborn as Severus,” Dumbledore said. That stung, a little. Mostly because she recognized that he was right – sitting there, sulking and refusing to be cooperative, did remind her of how Severus often behaved. She decided to change tactics and move on to bargaining. 

“Why can’t I just tell you about it? You already know most of the story, anyway,” Minerva said. “Also, it happened almost sixty years ago. You can’t possibly expect my memory of the event to be particularly good.”

“Minerva, you should know that is a large part of the reason I am asking you for the memory,” Dumbledore said gently. “Memories do fade, and the way we tell the stories can very easily pervert and distort memories. It is much more difficult to alter memories that we place in a Pensieve.”

Minerva frowned at him.

“Albus,” she said, “that is true. Of course. There is, of course, another benefit of placing memories inside the Pensieve.”

Dumbledore inclined his head towards Minerva and let out a small sigh.

“Yes,” he said, looking sadly at Minerva. “Placing memories in a Pensieve allows them to become immediately accessible to any number of people.” 

Minerva crossed her arms across her chest and stared down at her feet. After a few moments, she glanced up at Dumbledore, who had barely moved. He was watching her, waiting. 

“You’re planning on showing it to Potter,” Minerva said flatly. “And Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger too, I would imagine.”

“No,” Dumbledore said suddenly. “No, no. Not Weasley or Granger. Just Harry. And possibly not even Harry, at that.” 

“You’re not sure whether or not you would show them to Potter?” Minerva repeated icily, frowning. “Are you planning to just sort of decide on a whim, say, how you’re feeling on any given Tuesday?”

Dumbledore frowned at her, and Minerva instantly felt young and foolish. 

“No,” Dumbledore said slowly. “I believe it will be… important… for Harry to see firsthand several aspects of Lord Voldemort’s character. I have, as you know, been collecting many memories of the young Lord Voldemort. I am not yet sure if your collection of memories will serve to illuminate something significant about his character that the other memories I must show Harry will not make clear.”

“How can you not know that?” Minerva snapped. “I’ve told you everything, I told you everything right after it happened! Have you forgotten?”

“Of course not, my dear Minerva, but seeing the memory, being inside the memory may illuminate something you did not think was significant at the time,” Dumbledore said patiently. “You know this, Minerva. You know all of this. I understand that this memory is painful for you. I understand that you would prefer me not to show it to Potter. And I promise you that if I do not think it is absolutely necessary to share the memory with anyone, I will not do so.” 

Minerva chewed on her lower lip, a nervous tic. She stopped suddenly, and blushed. She hadn’t bit her lip like that since she had been a teenager, she realized . She had forced herself to stop doing it, thinking that it undermined her position of authority as a prefect in front of the first and second years. She glanced at Dumbledore, who was smiling at her sadly. Minerva felt a rush of complicated and confusing emotions to realize that his eyes were shining slightly, full of tears.

“For an instant there you looked just like you did as the small, terrified, first year coming to me, telling me about Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore said, wiping away a small tear under his left eye. “Emotional scars can leave us perpetually young in some ways.”

Minerva felt her face go warm. 

“Well,” she grumbled, picking up her wand and lifting it up to her temple, “as long as you promise you won’t show it to Granger.” A long, silver coiling wisp extended from her temple, which she placed in the Pensieve next to Dumbledore. Feeling shaky and slightly light-headed, Minerva stood up.

“Well,” she said hollowly. “You have it.” 

Dumbledore got up to his feet and walked around his desk to face her. Minerva stared at him, not exactly sure what to expect, when Dumbledore suddenly bowed to her. 

“Today you have done more for the Order than you know,” he said softly, looking her in the eyes. “I appreciate your sacrifice. Harry appreciates your sacrifice. Our entire cause appreciates your sacrifice.”

Minerva nodded jerkily, and took a step backwards towards the door.

“Erm… yes. Well, thank you,” Minerva said “I… well. See you at the faculty meeting, then.” She then turned on her heel and quickly walked out of the office, her cheeks slightly pink.

Minerva stopped directly outside of the stone gargoyles which guarded Dumbledore’s office and closed her eyes tightly and took a long, deep breath in. _Remember, he likes men_ , she told herself sternly. _Do not go thinking foolish thoughts now_ …

“What are you doing there, pretending to be a statue like us?” the gargoyle on her left suddenly cackled at her, making her jump.

“Oh, sod off,” she muttered at the statue, striding down the hallway, her head held high, and her cheeks only slightly pink.

\--

Back in his office, Dumbledore looked down at the Penseive . Taking a deep breath, he bent into the Pensieve . After the jarring sensation of falling through space and hitting the ground suddenly, he stood up in the familiar hallway leading towards the Potions classroom. The hallway was deserted; class must be in session. Dumbledore glanced around, smiling . The scenery of Hogwarts barely changed.

Suddenly Dumbledore heard rapidly approaching footsteps behind him. He turned around to see a young Minerva McGonagall striding towards him, looking anxious. She was tall for her age. Her long black hair was tied into a braid hanging down her back, and large round frames sat on her long nose. Her figure was boyish, and gangly: her arms looked almost impossibly long for her body. She looked to be about 13, but Dumbledore knew that she was about 11, only halfway through her First Year. Dumbledore followed Minerva as she passed him, walking quickly down the hallways and finally breaking into a quick trot towards the Potions classroom. 

Minerva skidded into the Potions classroom where class was obviously already in session. Slughorn was at the board, explaining some of the finer points of the potion the students would be attempting today, and all the other students were sitting quietly next to their brewing partners. (Well, almost all of them were sitting quietly, Dumbledore thought to himself, hiding back a small smile. Two Hufflepuff students looked to be exchanging notes in the back of the classroom, and a Gryffindor boy was whispering something into his very pretty lab partner’s ear.)

“Professor Slughorn!” Minerva said, as Professor Slughorn turned towards her, frowning. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up talking to Professor Siralty after my independent study--” 

Slughorn looked at Minerva for a moment. For a moment, Slughorn looked like he was going to simply wave off Minerva’s tardiness. After a short pause, however, and with a determined look Slughorn shook his head slowly.

“McGonagall, that’s the second time you’ve been late this month. Detention.” Slughorn snapped, wincing slightly at the sound of his own voice’s harshness. “Come to my office at six o’clock tonight.”

Minerva looked stunned as the class tittered and rustled around her.

“Bu-but Sir,” she said, “You know I have my meeting with Professor Siralty right before class time – “

“And it is your job to make sure to come to my class on time. End of discussion,” Slughorn said flatly, turning towards the board and scrawling the word bezoar on the board.

Minerva looked miserable as she slid into her seat, next to a young girl Dumbledore recognized as a young and outraged-looking Pomona Sprout. 

“That was really unfair,” Pomona whispered to Minerva furiously, shoving a wisp of her flyaway hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe it. Your first detention! And you don’t deserve it, you’re almost always late on Tuesdays, and he’s never minded before.”

“I know,” Minerva muttered out of the corner of her mouth to Pomona, grabbing her books out of her bag, “but he’s right. It is my responsibility. Stop talking to me, he’ll probably give me more detentions if he sees us whispering.”

After ten more minutes of a boring and harmless lecture on the properties of bezoars, the scene around Dumbledore shifted suddenly. The Potions class disappeared and swirled into Slughorn’s office. Slughorn was sitting at his desk, looking across at Minerva, who was sitting on the other side of the desk stared back at Slughorn, looking frightened. Dumbledore noticed that the small fireplace which lay nestled in Slughorn’s office was roaring unusually brightly. 

“For your… detention,” Slughorn said, clearing his voice, “you are going to come with me to London to help a friend of mine.” 

Minerva stared at him.

“London?” she asked, frowning. “What do you mean, London?”

“I mean London,” Slughorn repeated. “A friend of mine – and an old student of mine, in fact – has recently asked me if I knew of any young people who could help him with cataloging some items for the shop he works at. I think it will be a fine punishment for you.”

Minerva looked taken aback. “Are… are you allowed to have my detentions take place outside of the grounds?” 

“Miss McGonagall,” Slughorn said, suddenly looking angry, “I am your professor. I set the detentions. You will accompany me to Diagon Alley where you will serve your punishment. You will be back before curfew tonight.”

Minerva looked startled by being snapped at. She chewed on her lower lip, and then nodded.

“We’re going by Floo?” she asked suddenly, nodding towards the fireplace. “I’ve never travelled that way before.”

Slughorn looked surprised for a moment, and then coughed slightly.

“Yes… yes… have a friend at the Floo Commision, you know. This is the easiest way for us to get there and back. Yes… well… don’t be nervous about getting there. It will be fine, you can hold my arm, you know,” Slughorn said, looking uneasy. “It will be fine,” he repeated, and Dumbledore had the sense he was repeating the phrase more for himself than for Minerva’s sake. 

Minerva stood up abruptly. Slughorn stared at her, looking apprehensive.

“Well, erm… should we be off, then?” Minerva asked. 

“Oh! Oh yes,” Slughorn said, standing up and striding over to his fireplace.

The scene around Dumbledore shifted again; Slughorn’s office swirled into a back corner of The Leaky Cauldron. Minerva was sitting at a table next to Slughorn, a glass of butterbeer sitting in front of her.

“Thank you for the butterbeer, Professor Slughorn,” Minerva was saying. Dumbledore noticed that she was looking very much like any student would upon realizing that her detention might consist solely of sitting around a pub in London and drinking butterbeer. Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore noticed a young man walking towards the table. Dumbledore turned to study the man intently.

He was tall, thin, and good-looking, with black hair and eyes and small, neat features. He moved gracefully, smiling slightly at Slughorn and Minerva. There was something oddly compelling yet oddly unnerving about the man. The skin on his face appeared to be pulled just a bit too tight, as if he was missing skin around his eyes and nose. He was carrying a small purple satchel.

“Ah…” Slughorn said upon seeing the man. He forced a smile and stood up jerkily. “Riddle….this is Minerva McGonagall, who will be helping you today….Minerva, this is Tom Riddle.” Minerva stood up as well when the man reached the table. The man smiled at the pair of them and bowed deeply. Upon coming up, he took Minerva’s hand and kissed it. 

“Delightful to meet you, Minerva,” the man said. A faint blush crept up Minerva’s neck and cheeks.

“And you,” she said. The three sat down. A waitress came over to their table, and Riddle quietly ordered them a round of butterbeers. 

“Now,” Riddle said, looking at Minerva. “I have some artifacts and some books that need cataloging. Good old Slughorn here –“ Riddle inclined his head towards Slughorn slightly, “owed me a favor” – Dumbledore noticed that at this statement, Slughorn paled slightly and gripped his butterbeer tightly – “and so I requested that he send me a bright student such as yourself to help me with some cataloging.” Riddle set the satchel on the table, and reached into it, hoisting out a large, leather-bound book and setting it on the table with a loud thunk. 

Minerva narrowed her eyes slightly at the satchel. “Is that an Undetectable Extension Charm?” she asked.

“My, you are bright,” Riddle said softly, smiling at her. “Yes, my dear, it is.” Dumbledore noticed that Minerva blushed again and chewed her lower lip slightly Riddle turned to Slughorn just as their drinks were arriving.

“Horace,” he said conversationally. “I do think Minerva and I would work better alone. I know you’re writing an article for Potent Potions Monthly, on Felix Felicis are you not?” Slughorn cautiously nodded his head. “I thought so. I brought you this,” he said, reaching into the satchel and extracting a small, leatherbound book that appeared to be rotting slightly. Slughorn paled when he saw it.

“Merlin’s Beard…” he breathed. “Is that…. Where did you find that?” he sputtered.

“Yes,” Riddle said, placing it on the table in front of Slughorn. “It is, I am nearly positive, the potions book of Cassandra Flamel, including the first ever description of Felix Felicis.” Slughorn picked the book up tenderly and closely examine the cover.

“Horace,” Riddle repeated, causing Slughorn to look up at him with a stat, “why don’t you take that book over there,” he nodded toward a comfortable chair next to a roaring fire, “and take a look at that book. Minerva and I will work much better alone.”

Slughorn hesitated for a minute, looking at Minerva, at Riddle, and then finally at the book on the table.

“All right,” he said, tenderly taking the book in his hands and shuffling off to the armchair near the fire.

Riddle smiled at Slughorn’s retreating back, then turned to Minerva and smiled at her broadly. Dumbledore noticed, sighing slightly, that although Riddle was smiling at Minerva, there was something alarming about his smile – something frightening and cold. Minerva, who was taking a long drink of butterbeer, didn’t seem to notice. She was more naïve then, Dumbledore reflected sadly. Never stupid, never foolish… but naïve. 

“I work in a store that deals with rare and unusual antiques. Many of these items are books. I have with me several old and rare books that need to be cataloged,” Riddle said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a stack of seven or eight books. They were all on the small side, and most of them appeared to have some mildew or mold growing in them. “There are many more than this in here,” Riddle said, motioning to the bag with a small smile, “but these will start us off.

“Most of these are written in English,” Riddle continued, looking at Minerva closely – who was now looking at the books with undivided enthusiasm, “although some are written in Ancient Runes.” Riddle reached into his bag once more and took out a large leather-bound ledger, some ink, and a quill. “I think the best thing to do will be for you to look through the books and tell me pertinent information about them, and I can then record it.”

Minerva looked up from the books. “Is that all?” she asked sounding surprised. “Will that really help you all that much?” Riddle smiled at her again; a large, toothy smile. 

“You are helping me just by being here, my dear,” Riddle said, handing Minerva the first book. “It is always such a help to see such an intelligent, young witch. Slughorn has told me that you’re easily the first in your class.”

Minerva turned very red at that, and chewed her bottom lip slightly. 

“You look nice when you blush,” Riddle said softly, “it’s a nice contrast to your black hair.” When he said this, Dumbledore noticed confusion and fear flash through Minerva’s eyes for an instant – Dumbledore was sure, too, that Riddle noticed as well. He abruptly opened up the ledger and began asking Minerva rudimentary questions about the book she was holding: its title, where it was published, and what it appeared to be about. Dumbledore saw Minerva start to relax slowly through the repetitive mental and physical action. Dumbledore knew from experience that Minerva, brilliant mind that she was, did find continual, repetitive tasks such as filing and cleaning very soothing. _He knows how to play her_ , Dumbledore realized sadly. _He’s been sitting with her all of five minutes and already knows how to make her feel comfortable with him_.

“I believe Slughorn mentioned to me that your father is a Muggle,” Riddle remarked to Minerva casually, after they had spent a good three-quarters of an hour recording information for about twenty books. 

Minerva looked up at Riddle, looking surprised and apprehensive. “Yes,” she said slowly. “He’s a minister. Church of Scotland.”

“Ah, I see,” Riddle said, nodding slowly. “But your mother is a witch?” 

Minerva nodded at him. “Yes. I didn’t know for most of my childhood. Mother kept it under wraps, you see… my father was important in the Muggle town I grew up.”

Riddle nodded slightly. “Yes.” He paused for a moment. “My father was a Muggle too. But my mother was a witch.”

Dumbledore was so surprised at this that he started and gasped audibly. Minerva hadn’t mentioned this to him. Everything he had learned about Riddle pointed to him being deeply uncomfortable with his Muggle heritage – him telling Minerva, a virtual stranger, and a relatively defenseless 11-year-old at that, seemed unthinkable.

Minerva, however, relaxed slightly at the news that Riddle’s family background was the same as her own.

“I get along much better with my father than my mother, to be honest with you,” Minerva said, “So I sometimes wish he were the wizard, not Mother. It would make things easier.”

Riddle nodded gravely. “Yes.” He said. “I wish my father had been a wizard as well.”

There was a pause where Minerva seemed to think about this, and started to look uneasy again. This time, however, Riddle leaned in.

“Is your mother Isobel McGonagall, formerly Isobel Ross?” he asked her intently. Dumbledore noticed that his eyes narrowed slightly as he asked her this. 

“Ye-yes,” Minerva said, looking confused. “She is. Why? Do you – do you know her?”

“No,” Riddle said, leaning back and smiling slightly at her. “But it’s possible I may know of her, in a way.”  
Minerva stared at him, looking nonplussed. Riddle smiled at her.

“Minerva, I must confess something to you,” Riddle said, gently piling the books that were now scattered around him at the table. “I did not ask Slughorn to send me any recalcitrant student to help with this little chore,” Riddle said, easily gesturing to the books around him. “I asked him to arrange a meeting with you.”

Minerva stared at him.

“With… with me?” She asked, looking confused. Riddle smiled at her; the smile, Dumbledore noticed, was almost kind. 

“Yes, my dear. I would even hazard a guess that old Slughorn gave you a detention for some petty crime that didn’t merit one, am I right?” 

Minerva nodded, still looking confused. 

“Yes… I thought so. You seem like a very conscientious, intelligent student… not like someone who would break a lot of rules.” Riddle said, smiling softly.

Minerva began to chew on her lower lip again.

“I think it is possible that you might be a direct descendant of Godric Gryffindow,” Riddle said softly.

Minerva started in her chair; another deep crimson blush rushed across her face.

“What?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat, “What?” she repeated sharply, this time sounding much more like herself.

Riddle smiled at her.

“Yes,” he said, “genealogy is a bit of a … pet project of mine, you see. Particularly the genealogy of such influential and famous witches and wizards as Godric Gryffindor.” He paused. “I believe that people always reflect something of their ancestors. And you, I have heard, encapsulate all of the positive traits Godric Gryffindor was famed to have: courage, intelligence, tenacity… Yes,” Riddle said tilting his head to one side and surveying Minerva critically, “even physical confidence.” Riddle paused, surveying Minerva again; she looked taken aback but slightly pleased. “I think it is very likely you will grow up to be a very beautiful woman someday,” he said seriously.

This time, Dumbledore noticed, Minerva did not look as nervous as she had before when Riddle complimented her appearance. Instead, she looked excited, and even a little pleased. Riddle smiled at her, and Dumbledore knew he noticed Minerva’s change in demeanor.

“The last descendant of Godric Gryffindor that we know with any degree of certainty is a man named Theodore Carlstrom,” Riddle said, his dark eyes glinting slightly at Minerva. “He had no children. Well, officially. His diary states that he was very close to a poor woman named Agatha Ross. Nine months after Theodore states he spent a “simply incredible weekend” with Agatha Ross, she had a child out of wedlock. It was quite a scandal, I understand, in the small village she was raised in. She named the child Cyril. And Cyril is your great-great-great grandfather, Minerva.”

Minerva gaped at him.

“Is… is that true?” she said. Riddle laughed soflty.

“Of course it is, my dear. Come now. Surely you always felt somewhat different than your peers? More talented?”

Minerva frowned and looked down at the table. 

“Well… yes,” she said finally, looking both scared and confused. 

Riddle looked at Minerva, smiling at her.

“Yes…” he said, sighing. “You will be an extremely lovely woman someday, Minvera.” This time, Minerva blushed happily. Riddle began carefully putting the stacks of books and his ledger back in his bad. “Why don’t we get some fresh air outside?” Riddle asked Minerva, glancing over at Slughorn, who was by this time sleeping soundly in the armchair near the fire. 

Minerva hesitated for a moment; then, chewing her lower lip, murmured “sure.”

Dumbledore walked behind Riddle and Minerva as they walked outside and into a small alleyway next to The Leaky Cauldron. By this point it appeared to be quite late; it was very dark out, and Riddle and Minerva looked to be quite alone.

“Yes… this is better,” Riddle said, sighing, and smiling down at Minerva. Although Minerva was almost shockingly tall for her age, Riddle was still a few inches taller than her. Minerva, who even as an 11-year-old always looked confident and in-control, now looked nervously up at Riddle, looking confused, excited, and very not in control. 

“Minerva,” he said quietly, “can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” Minerva breathed, her voice trembling slightly.

“Would you mind terribly if I kissed you?” Riddle asked softly. Dumbledore paled slightly, it was frightening how genuine, courteous, and… almost _tender_ Riddle sounded.

“Um… sure,” Minerva whispered. Riddle bent down and kissed her intently. He pushed his hand through her hair; Minerva rocked slightly on the balls of her feet. Dumbledore sighed, looking down at the ground, hating himself. _I didn’t know this part_ , he thought sadly. _This must be what she didn’t want me to see._ Dumbledore felt sad and slightly sick. He knew Riddle was dangerous, he knew he was charming. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected this.

They broke apart, Minerva panting slightly. Riddle chuckled at her.

“You must forgive me for that,” he said, straightening up. “You… well, you affect me quite a bit.”

“You affect me too,” Minerva breathed. Through the darkness, Dumbledore could see a glint of superiority cross Riddle’s face. In that moment, Dumbledore hated Riddle more than he ever had before. Which, Dumbledore reflected sadly, he had not thought was possible. 

“I must ask you another question, my dear,” Riddle said. “Did you… did you know before I told you that you might have been Gryffindor’s heir?” Riddle asked. 

“N-no… No idea. Why… how would I have?” Minerva said, sounding confused.

“Have you ever seen your mother, or perhaps your grandfather, with a sword? With a ruby on the hilt?” Riddle said, his voice now quieter and more intent than it had been the entire evening.

“No…” Minerva said. “Do you… do you mean the Sword of Gryffindor?”

“Ah…” Riddle said looking down at Minerva, now with no trace of kindness, fake or otherwise in his expression.  
“You’ve heard of it.”

“I’ve… I’ve read of it,” Minerva said, sounding confused. 

“I need it.” Riddle said simply. “I need it and want it very, very much.”

Minerva stared at him. 

“I… don’t know how to help you,” Minerva said, now sounding slightly indignant. 

“My dear,” Riddle said, gently tucking a loose strand of Minerva’s hair behind her ear. “I know that your family may have told you to never tell someone information about the sword, I know it might be a family secret…”

Minerva stared stonily ahead.

“I know this, my dear.” Riddle continued, “but I need it, and only for a moment. I just need to see it. Just for some research. And you’re… well, you’re different. I know you’ll understand. You can tell me,” Riddle continued, now softly stroking Minerva’s cheek.

Minerva jerked aside, knocking Riddle hand away from her cheek. Dumbledore could see, even in the dimly lit alleyway, a look of pure rage flash through Riddle’s eyes.

“I’m telling you the truth,” Minerva said flatly, “I’ve never seen it. Ever. I can’t help you find it.” 

At this, Riddle laughed slightly, and moved closer to Minerva. 

“Oh, but there you’re wrong, my darling,” Riddle breathed, grabbing Minerva’s wand hand and drawing her closer to him. “It is rumored that the Sword of Gryffindor appears to any true Gryffindor in need. If that is the case, how much more likely is it that the Sword will appear for the witch who may be the heir of Gryffindor herself?”

“What do you mean?” Minerva demanded, sounding terrified. “Do… do you want me just to... ask for it?” 

“No, no,” Riddle said, laughing slightly. “I doubt that would work.”

He smiled at her for one terrifying moment, and then, pointing his wand almost lazily at Minerva, who was still awkwardly intertwined in his arms, murmured “Remember, my dear. The only way for this to stop will be to break free from me, or to give me the sword. _Crucio_.”

Minerva started to scream. “ _Silencio_ ,” Riddle said. “ _Crucio_ ,” he repeated . Minerva shook slightly in his arms, screaming with no sound escaping from her mouth. She wriggled away from Riddle’s arms, trying to get to her wand, but Riddle held her tightly in place.

“It will end, if the sword appears,” Riddle hissed into her ear. “If you get the sword, you will have something to fight me with.” 

But no sword appeared. Minerva twitched and writhed, screaming silently, but no sword appeared.  
After about three minutes, three harrowing, horrifying minutes, Riddle lifted both spells on Minerva. She fell to the ground in the alleyway, shaking and crying . Riddle sighed. He picked up his bag, which had fallen to the ground in the confusion.

“You disgust me, you miserable half-breed,” Riddle snapped at Minerva, and then almost instantly Apparated away. 

Minerva stayed there, shaking and sobbing quietly to herself, for about a minute. Then, suddenly, she hoisted herself up and flung herself into The Leaky Cauldron. She hurtled towards Slughorn, and violently woke him up by shaking him by the collar. 

“We have to go, we have to go, right now, back to school, _right now_ ,” Minerva half-sobbed, half-yelled at Slughorn. 

Slughorn looked horrified. 

“What did… what happened to you… no… let’s go,” Slughorn said sounding confused, then grabbing Minerva’s wrist (Minerva shuddered violently at the action that was so similar to the way Riddle had just held her), and flung them both into the Floo Portal, yelling _Hogwarts – Slughorn’s Office_ as he did so.

They tumbled into Slughorn’s office, Minerva dry heaving. She broke away from Slughorn and stood up, taking deep, shuddering, breaths, her left hand on the door, her right clutching her chest.

“Minerva,” Slughorn said intently, walking towards Minerva and looming over her. “McGonagall. It is imperative – do you understand me, _imperative_ , that you tell no one what has happened to you tonight, whatever has happened to you. I could get in a lot, a lot of trouble. Do you understand me?”

Minerva’s eyes grew wider as she stared at Slughorn. She barked out a short laugh, a short, terrible laugh.

“You… you ass,” she spat at him, then flung open the door behind her, and started to run to the Gryffindor common room.

Dumbledore stared after her sadly, wishing with all his heart that he could have been there for her. If anything he would have given Minerva thirty points to Gryffindor for calling Slughorn an ass. 

The memory shifted again, and this time Dumbledore experienced the strange sensation of seeing himself fifty years younger. His younger self was standing near his desk in the Transfiguration classroom. Minerva was standing in front of him, staring down at the ground intently. 

“Miss McGonagall, you’ve seemed very distracted in class,” the younger Dumbledore said to Minerva, sounding kind. “Has something happened you need to talk about?”

Minerva started crying, and, as if on impulse, hugged Dumbledore tightly. Dumbledore saw himself look shocked, and then intently worried, as he slowly patted Minerva on the back. 

“Something happened and I don’t know what to do,” Minerva sobbed. Just as suddenly as she had embraced the young Dumbledore, she broke away from him. She took a deep breath, composing herself. “It was with this man named… named… Riddle,” she said evenly. 

Dumbledore saw his younger self pale slightly. “Miss McGonagall,” he said seriously, “please tell me everything that happened.” 

\--

Dumbledore lifted his head from the Pensieve, his Headmaster’s office surrounding him suddenly. He sat heavily on his chair, laced his fingers together, and thought. 

“He wanted the sword,” he murmured to himself, “but was never able to find it. Obsessed with genealogy…Yes… that fits, it all fits.” 

A few hours later, he left his office. As he did, he encountered a small note hovering outside of his door. 

Dumbledore was written on it in familiar green ink, in a very familiar handwriting. He tentatively took the note and unfolded it, and reading it, did not know whether to laugh, smile, or cry.

 _Dumbledore_ – the note read – _I want to hear the story of your first kiss, as now you know mine. Best, McGonagall._


End file.
